The Double Game by Dan Fesperman

Author:Dan Fesperman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
Tags: Thrillers, Men's Adventure, Fiction, Historical, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780307960900
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2012-08-20T18:30:00+00:00

By late afternoon the wind was rising, blowing angry clouds across the rooftops of the Old Town and spawning zephyrs of litter and grit, as if determined to sweep every last tourist from the city. Tartan Army stragglers had to hold down their kilts, and each northerly gust carried the smell of rain. My feet, soaked from the fountain, were freezing.

I hadn’t been inside 22 Divadelni since I was fourteen, and didn’t know what to expect. The ambassador had never been thrilled by Dad’s decision to live outside the diplomatic cocoon. To accommodate Cold War security concerns we endured monthly visits from sweeper teams that scanned every wall, floor, and ceiling with wands and beeping black boxes. They never found a thing. Dad nonetheless switched on the radio whenever we had company or made a phone call. Now, I was about to make the very sort of intrusion the embassy had always feared the most. If the key fit.

We arrived at the front steps right at six, watching our backs but seeing no sign of surveillance. A few raindrops were falling, the fat kind that precede huge storms, and the trees in the park were waving wildly. We took shelter in the vestibule. The floor tiles were scrubbed, and all the mailboxes seemed to be in working order, although my handler’s minions had once again been playing with the name tags. A spotless new label printed with “CAGE” appeared in our old slot for the third floor.

We had no key for the downstairs door. We were hoping to get in by using the old trick of buzzing every apartment until someone let us in. But first we buzzed my old place, to see if the coast was clear. I tensed for a response, but the only sound was that of the rising wind.

“Good,” I said. “Now let’s get in.”

On our third try there was an answering buzz from a second-floor apartment. We shoved open the door and climbed the stairs. A door on the second floor opened as we passed, and an elderly woman peeped through the slit.

“Sorry,” I said breezily. “Forgot our key.”

I couldn’t tell if she understood, but she rammed home the security chain. We slowed down as we approached the third floor, and went the rest of the way practically on our tiptoes. I took out the key, then thought better of it and put my ear to the door, like a doctor listening through a stethoscope. I heard a faint buzz, like a refrigerator, but nothing else apart from a television downstairs. The lock looked encouragingly old.

“Here goes,” I whispered.

Litzi bit her lower lip. I pushed the key into the slot.

It was a tight fit, stopping halfway in. I gave it a wiggle and slid it to the hilt. Then it wouldn’t budge. Another wiggle, still no progress. Even as I fretted, a memory returned of a balky lock that often needed coaxing and just the right touch, but was I thinking of this house or the one in Budapest? I paused, took a deep breath to relax, but had no better luck on the next try.

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